Heirs of the Demon King: Uprising

by Sarah Cawkwell

  An Abaddon Books™ Publication

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  First published in 2014 by Abaddon Books™, Rebellion

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  ISBN (epub): 978-1-84997-676-3

  ISBN (mobi): 978-1-84997-676-0

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  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  For Beatrix Moore,

  who came into being at the same time as this book.

  May the rainbow always touch your shoulder.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Half Title

  Dedication

  Treatise on the Kings of England and the Rise of Magic: The Plantagenets

  Prologue

  Treatise on the Kings of England and the Rise of Magic: Bosworth and the Aftermath

  One

  Two

  Demons: Myth or Truth?

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  A Treatise on the Kings of England

  and the Rise of Magic:

  The Plantagenets

  by Brother Edmund of the

  Order of St. Aidan, Royal Archivist

  from his greater text A History of the

  Demon Kings, second edition (1694)

  IN MARCH OF the Year of Our Lord 1194, Richard the Lionheart returned to the people of his kingdom following years of captivity. He brought with him tales of the Crusades; captivating and bold tales of fierce warriors whose strength in battle was unmatched until the Christians brought them low. He told tales of arcane wonder. Beyond all these, he brought something else. Something that would change the direction of our great country forevermore. The forgotten, whispered words of eastern mystics.

  Richard returned with a thousand words of ritual, mysterious incantations and sweet-smelling incense. He brought back knowledge of runes of great power to invoke the spirits of the elements. This was a rare gift granted to Christendom from the wise men of the east. In Richard the Lionheart, they saw a strong man; a leader to whom the power could be entrusted. Richard’s well of gratitude ran deep and he was eager to share the knowledge with his kingdom. He chose, rather poetically, to call it the Eastern Promise.

  It was the gift of magic.

  England already knew about magic in its simplest form. Herbal poultices and preparations have aided the English people since before records were kept. The stripped bark of a willow tree is known to ease aches and pains. Adding particular herbs to hot water produces calming and comforting brews that aid the sick and ailing. Man has long worked with the forces of nature; the planting and growing of crops is dependent upon the seasons, just as the rise and fall of the tides is connected with the phases of the moon. The people who walk upon this country’s green and blessed shores know when to reap and they know when to sow. This is knowledge garnered over many years, the result of trial and error.

  What Richard brought back was magic in a purer form. He travelled back with the best of intentions, to share this wonder with his people. Good intentions, as we all know from our schooling, are the stones that pave the road to Hell, and it is tragic that this rang true in the case of King Richard. The truth of what happened was the product of a kingdom made greedy and the results were far from the glory Richard Plantagenet saw for the future of his people.

  Richard the Lionheart learned, on his return from the Crusades, that his absence had led to a loss of control over the running of his English kingdom. When he called a council to discuss the Eastern Promise, there was great dissension. The King yearned to share the secrets of magic with all of his people, but the priesthood and the nobility of his court argued that such power should be held only by those best qualified to do so. They feared that with the gift of magic at their disposal, the common folk would turn against their betters. The country could ill-afford another revolt, they said.

  Eventually, the King relented and placed the gift of magic into the hands of the nobility. Those who became party to the secrets of the Holy Land found themselves in possession of something more wonderful than simple mastery over the elements. The Eastern Promise unlocked a whole new world. It was a world terrifying and overwhelming in equal measure—but it was also a world of limitless potential. A world where every mystery conquered rewarded the magic user with fresh knowledge... and still more mystery.

  King Richard oversaw the rise of this mystical power in his lands and he was pleased. The men he had chosen to wield the arcane gift were just and loyal, and they did not abuse their new-found power. Content that his kingdom was secure in their hands, he retreated to his beloved Aquitaine.

  The words of magic began to slowly trickle down. The first magicians chose to share their gifts with friends and family or favoured apprentices. Slowly but surely, magic became part of the culture, seeped into the everyday, and the people of England knew it and embraced it gladly.

  With magic now part of everyday life, the crime of witchcraft that had once so persecuted country healers was no longer treated as such. Healers no longer lived in fear for their lives, and were able to practise their herbalism and healing without challenge. But it was not long before things took a turn for the worse.

  It became clear that some people were naturally gifted; a connection with magic that made them stronger. Such people were considered remarkable and were fiercely prized by their communities. Some, it was whispered, were so skilled with magic that they could summon demons from the pits of Hell with nothing more than a word. But even if these rumours held truth, such practices were not commonplace, and any demon-summoning was performed in secret. The Church worked tirelessly to stamp out the rumours.

  By the time of Richard’s death, five years after his return, and the ascension of his brother John to the throne of England in 1199, magic had firmly taken root. England, France, Spain and Italy in particular were greatly altered by the whispers of the eastern mystic who had spoken with Richard at the gates of Jerusalem.

  So the gift of magic flourished for a time. With each mystery solved, a new benefit for the men of the west was granted. Summers became longer, with
those now known as magi able to summon the rains on request to feed the crops. Harvests grew richer. The bounty of the seas multiplied. Illnesses were cured, injuries healed. Under the guidance of the House of Plantagenet, the country bloomed and swelled in power. These were great days; a time of peace and prosperity.

  It was no surprise that the gift eventually spread to the continent as well. In the courts of Paris, magicians demonstrated remarkable sleight-of-hand techniques, artfully aided by dipping into the wonders of the gift. The people of Europe lived in opulent, indulged wonder and magic was embraced.

  The Plantagenet line flourished, made rich and strong with the addition of magic to its blood. But King John was not the strong leader his brother had been, and with the signing of the Magna Carta in 1215, the citizens of England regained many of their longabsent rights and privileges. With new and completely unchallenged access to forbidden vaults and archives, the spread of magic through the population was unprecedented. No longer an exclusive and carefully managed thing, magic became tainted and sour. Those who had very little realised that with the right application of magic, they might gain more. By contrast, those at the top, with all the wealth and power, had little desire to lose it. The country began to fall to fighting and swelling greed.

  Mainland Europe largely ignored the squabbling in England, leaving the little country be. England, once considered a prize for any prince, soon fell into a state of famine and bitter civil war.

  After John’s death, Henry the Third took the throne. Only nine years old when he took the seat of power, he was raised by the same priests and nobles who had advised his long-dead uncle. They had come to fear for their lofty positions as the peasantry took to the arcane arts, and during Henry’s reign, desperate efforts to stamp out common magic usage and return power to the royal and the noble commenced. The easiest way to make their statement came in the form of public execution. Those among the common folk caught openly practising magic were hunted, tried and summarily executed.

  Every scholar knows the pattern of kings from this point. Edward the First, Second and Third came and went, and although they carved out their place in the history books, they never fully succeeded in reclaiming magic as the exclusive gift of the nobility. It is said that the Black Plague, which killed half of the country’s population in the mid-fourteenth century, was a direct result of Edward the Third’s attempt to channel a higher, forbidden form of rune magic. These claims have never been proved true and should be treated as rumour, not fact.

  Richard the Second took the throne, but after surviving the socalled ‘Peasants’ Revolt,’ his luck only grew worse. He was swiftly removed from power, deposed by his first cousin, Henry the Fourth, who brought a new name with him. The House of Lancaster, as the ruling family were now known, still carried the Plantagenet bloodline. As Edward the Third’s grandson, Henry was every bit a Plantagenet, even if he hid behind a different name and a different banner. His reign was fraught with uprisings from the magicallystrong Welsh, Scots and Cornish people, who sought to fight for the right to use their magic freely.

  Before he died, passing the throne to his son Henry the Fifth, the King decreed the re-building of Hadrian’s Wall to the north. Later, his grandson would extend the barrier and build visible borders to the Welsh lands and in the southwest of the country. The Celtic people were resistant to this act but could not hope to match the forces of the King.

  Henry the Fifth had no magical blood in his body. He was a warrior king, a throwback to a greater, glorious age. It was in him that the first lust to totally destroy magic in its varied forms arose. Unsurprisingly, this did not make him popular amongst those who still yearned to embrace magic to improve their lot. After Henry, efforts continued to end the reign of magic.

  The bloodline thinned, but did not completely die out, and by the time Richard the Third took the throne, the country was in dire straits. The prosperous years following the Crusades were long forgotten. Disease once more stalked the lands, hand in hand with famine and death.

  But each king knew the true secret. Each of these kings knew what it had cost Richard the Lionheart to bring the gift of magic to the shores of England. They knew the source of the power and they knew the dangers in stretching the limits of that power. Not one of them, not even the boldest, dared to test that limit.

  Richard the Third dared.

  Prologue

  21st August, 1485

  Ambion Hill,

  England

  ‘THE TRUTH. GIVE me the truth!’

  The King’s fist slammed down onto the table at which the commanders of his army sat. The argument ceased immediately at the sound, and all eyes turned to the man seated at the table’s head.

  ‘The truth, sire? The truth is that we cannot hope to hold out against Tudor’s forces for another full day.’

  ‘Do we not outnumber them?’

  ‘Yes, sire, by almost a thousand men.’ The Duke of Northumberland chose his next words carefully. ‘But our numbers will count for nothing. His advantage is too strong.’ He drew a deep breath. The King had demanded the truth—and the truth he would have. ‘The battle will be lost.’

  The words cut through the tense atmosphere like a sword. The King sat down heavily and shook his head. ‘That cannot be. I refuse to concede defeat without a blade raised in defiance. Tell me something else. There has to be a way we can defeat him.’

  ‘Short of murdering his vile retinue in their beds...’ Northumberland started, but the King interrupted him.

  ‘Do you not think I’d considered that? Assassins have been infiltrating Tudor’s forces for days and still he encroaches. Still he brings those abominations before me and seeks to drive me from my throne. Well, he will not have it. There has to be a way, but you fools are too stupid to provide me with one...’

  The candlelight flickered against the King’s furious face. It was not a handsome visage, the features somehow misaligned and uneven as though he had not been put together correctly. The only reminder of his noble heritage was the solid set to the heavily stubbled jaw line and something across his prominent brow that called to mind the Plantagenets who had seized the English throne for their own.

  King Richard the Third of England was not a man who cared much about physical appearance. He was, however, a man who cared a great deal about how his kingdom was perceived. This was not a battle he could afford to lose if he was to be seen to be strong. Henry Tudor was within days—hours, if his commanders were to be believed—of taking that throne from him. The expectations of his ancestors fell heavily on his stooped shoulders. He was not a happy man.

  Those loyal to his cause were few in number, but utterly dedicated to the Crown. Their King was young, but seasoned and tempered in the fires of battle. Tudor was an untried warrior and largely an unknown quantity, but his sheer presence had been enough to sway the hearts of the weak-willed and the opportunistic. It was a battle that should never have come to pass, a rebellion that should have been over before it had even begun. For months they had known of Tudor’s scheming and intentions—for months they’d had time to marshal their forces and march on Lancaster—but Richard had been confident he could dispel the growing threat with words and politics.

  He had been too confident. And now the price was being paid in blood and lives in the muddy fields of middle England. Because of Henry Tudor and his followers. Because of the colours and the design of the banner that marched at the head of the enemy and what they stood for. The dragon standard had become synonymous with Tudor’s encroachment, an ancient iconography whose boldness of statement could not be missed. All who flocked to Tudor’s banner knew what weapon it was that he wielded. Those who marched beneath the white rose of York found out, often too late, what weapon it was that they faced. All of Richard’s armies could not hope to best such power.

  So numbers had dwindled as fear of the King and his laws was eclipsed by fear of Tudor’s arcane might. Lords found excuses to keep their warriors at home or simply ignored
the King’s summons altogether, casting aside familial oaths to await the inevitable outcome. This campaign had cost many lives, not to mention the great expense to bring the King’s diminished army to the field to answer Henry’s defiance. If the material or actual costs weighed heavily on Richard’s shoulders, it didn’t show in his words or deeds. But he was losing, and tomorrow, Richard feared, he would have lost. He would be consigned to the history books as the man who lost the crown of England to a pretender. His hands curled and uncurled as he concentrated on keeping focused and not allowing his burning hatred of Tudor to cause a tirade of impotent rage.

  He knew this was more than an attempt on his throne and on the crown. Tudor wished to totally destroy the English way of life. If he ascended the throne of England...

  A silence fell across the command pavilion, uncomfortable and unpleasant. The only sound was the rain outside, drumming heavily above their heads, incessantly driving and churning the earth into a gruelling swamp. It should not have been raining; the weather was wholly unnatural given the clear skies. But then, their enemy wielded unnatural power.

  There was a coughing at the entrance to the command tent, and seven pairs of eyes turned to the young messenger who stood there.

  ‘Speak.’ Richard sat back in his chair, resting his hands on its wooden arms. ‘Bring me news I want to hear.’

  ‘Alas, I cannot, sire.’ The messenger was little more than a boy, not more than sixteen or seventeen years old. Like Richard, he had seen the army assembling in the fields beyond and knew what it represented. He bore the same air of grim determination that now marked all of the King’s men. Richard’s eyes narrowed to barely visible slits. The boy’s manner did not please him.

  ‘Then speak. What are his plans?’

  ‘Lord Stanley remains neutral. He has positioned his units between our forces. He will take whichever side he sees fit once battle is joined. It seems that unless my lord concedes to his demands immediately, his loyalty will be fickle to the last.’